Page 20 of Framing the Pitch (Red Dirt Romance #1)

We come back with a win in our second game against the Firebirds but fall in the final game on Sunday, sending us on our way with our first series loss of the season.

We arrive in Tampa feeling rejuvenated, but I’m pretty sure that’s just because we’re away from the dry heat of Phoenix.

The Renegades play out of the University of South Florida’s college stadium, even though its nearly half an hour away from their front offices in Riverview.

While we’ve been apart, Trace’s calls after my games have been the steadying force that helps me make it through another day without him.

We keep our conversations to pretty casual topics like how my games go and what he’s been up to with his “time off,” but even I can pick up on the subtle tension in his voice because it’s the same tension in mine.

Trace and I haven’t spent this much time together since before he was drafted to the Wranglers right out of college, and while it’s been great, it shouldn’t be this hard to be away from him for a few days.

Just a few weeks ago, a text was enough to make me feel tethered to him, and now I’m not happy if I can’t see his face in person .

That thought persists like an itch I can’t scratch as I gather all of my gear to take to the bus before our last game in Florida this evening.

As I’m leaving the room with Erica, Trace’s name and picture show up on my phone screen, sending a spike of excitement through me, followed by a crash of disappointment a few heartbeats later.

I answer the call quickly, a deviation from his usual post-game check-in, even though the disappointment of knowing I won’t see him for another two days lingers.

“What time is your game today?” Trace asks before I can even say Hi, how are you?

It’s odd of him to forget, since he’s called me after all of my other games like clockwork, but I know he’s been catching up on a lot of things this week. Even though he was so adamant that I was more important than anything else he has going on.

“At six.” I glance down at my watch, which shows that it’s getting close to 3:30 pm. “We’re headed to the field now.” It’s standard for us to arrive two hours before first pitch to warm up and meet with fans.

“Okay. Good luck.” He makes a short kissing noise and hangs up.

I pull my phone away from my ear and look at it. Weird . But not the weirdest thing he’s ever done, so…whatever, I guess.

“Are you ready for today?” Erica asks as I catch up with her and a portion of the team at the elevator.

We’ve won our last two games, and the goal today is to end the series with a sweep and keep our momentum going into our final away series against the Oklahoma City Mayhem before we head back home for the Fourth of July break.

“Of course,” I say, wheeling my oversized bag into the elevator while as many players and their gear bags squeeze in. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Erica eyes the phone still dangling from my hand with a knowing look. She’s had a front-row seat to my reaction at being away from Trace for a full week .

I slip it into the pocket of my navy blue shorts with a shake of my head. “I’m telling you, I’m fine. We’ll win tonight, I’ll see him on Saturday, and everything will be right in the world.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Naomi,” she teases, bumping my arm with hers. “Especially that part about winning tonight. I like that part.”

The melodious sound of the team’s metal cleats scraping against the concrete floor as we make our way to the exit echoes down the hallway.

The lilting voices of the team, talking about the upcoming game and a handful of other things, complements the scratching, creating the main soundtrack of my summer.

We near the turn in the hallway that will lead us to the field, and voices can be heard over the general din of our team.

“Just down this hallway,” a female voice says.

“Thank you so much,” replies a familiar voice.

When Trace turns the corner with a huge smile on his face, the quiet sounds of my team’s chatter become a cacophony as they greet him. But his eyes find me and stay there.

My feet move on their own accord, taking me from the back of the group, past my teammates and coaches, and directly to Trace. His eyes never leave me as I drop my bag at his feet and jump into his arms.

Trace’s arms hold me up as I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck, crushing him in a hug.

“What are you doing here?” I mumble into his neck .

“I wanted to see you.”

I pull back. “But I thought we agreed on Oklahoma City?”

“I couldn’t wait that long.”

I laugh. “It’s only, like, two more days.”

“Two days too long.”

Trace’s arms tighten around me, and I pull back to look him in the eyes. Those golden brown beauties stare back at me, and I have the sudden urge to kiss him.

Cue the record scratch.

KISS HIM?!?

I’ll admit, I’ve had more thoughts than I should have that border the line of friendship and flirting over the last few weeks. It probably has something to do with the fact that we’re acting like we’re dating, so naturally I would start to think like that, too. Isn’t that how method acting works?

But this thought flies so far past that line in the sand that it makes me hesitate.

Should I?

Half the team and staff are still walking past us. It would be completely within my “fake” girlfriend options.

I shouldn’t.

Because one kiss from me, even though I’m pretending, is the first step in ruining my relationship with the best friend I’ve had in my entire life.

Trace might not know it’s pretend, leading him to develop romantic feelings for me, even though I don’t have romantic feelings for him, and then I’d have to turn him down and BOOM.

Friendship eliminated.

On the other hand, if I kiss him because this feeling isn’t just “pretending,” it would lead me down the path of heartbreak.

When this show is over and Trace starts to date another woman and eventually falls in love with her, I’d be stuck with this unrequited love mess that people write songs about.

No, thank you.

On the other hand…

Now I’m starting to sound like a Jewish farmer in Russia talking about a fiddler on a roof.

I blink, and the moment is gone. A passing teammate lets out a whoop, and I remember where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. I unwrap my legs from his waist, and he gently lowers me to the ground.

My eyes go to my team, and Trace nods, then picks up my bag for me. “Don’t worry about me, Naomi. I’ll be here after you’re done. Go!” He passes me the handle of my bag and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

And as much as I want to stay here and talk to Trace, I have a game to win. I follow after my team at a jog, quickly catching up and brushing off their questions about Trace and his sudden appearance as well as their implications and innuendos.

“After the game,” I promise my teammates. “Let’s focus on the game.” It’s more a reminder to myself than it is to them because they’re not the ones who are going to be overthinking about their best friend for the next seven innings.